


so i bow my head and pray

by WendigoBaby



Series: pat does tumblr prompts [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: First Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Human AU, Kissing, M/M, Vague descriptions of violence, meeting after years of separation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendigoBaby/pseuds/WendigoBaby
Summary: Cheers get even louder, threatening to burst everyone’s eardrums when Magnus’ fighter walks into the arena. He’s already shirtless, hands wrapped in boxing tape, skin covered with tattoos, dark hair sprawling the expanse of a muscular chest and stomach. Jaw tight, brows pulled together and calculating, he pays no attention to the public; focused on the goal, his hazel eyes trace the nervous movements of his opponent.Magnus feels a tug of nostalgia in his heart, where there was a boy laughing once, there is now a man with only one wish. With nostalgia come questions and with questions comes guilt, but it’s foreign, trapped behind thick walls, as this is not the time nor the place for deeper thoughts.





	so i bow my head and pray

**Author's Note:**

> this was for a prompt: _"Why did you choose me?"_ and somehow it created its own universe and backstories, i don't even know, but please enjoy!

The city is dark and quiet, night weighing it down like a thick blanket. Sparse lanterns illuminate empty streets and half-finished buildings, blinking red lights of cranes looming over wooden skeletons and stacks of bricks. This is the kind of district you don’t want to find yourself in after dusk, populated only by stray dogs and garbage trucks, where every shadow feels like a nightmare with eyes at your back, ready to jump and take your wallet before taking your life as well.

 

Apart from the distant hum of busy highways, cars rushing like blood through urban veins and sirens singing a song of crime, there’s a rumble of cheers and chatter coming from one of the lit up warehouses near the river’s edge. Off-white cigarette smoke rises in wispy plumes towards the high ceiling criss-crossed with beams and holding cheap halogen lights that make every face look hollow.

 

The metal sliding door opens just as a limo stops in front of the building, a wave of cacophonous noise pouring out onto the concrete. A tall figure steps out of the car, all sharp lines, black coat and a black hat with a wide brim shrouding most of his face in mystery. Even though the space is crowded shoulder-to-shoulder, the sea of bodies parts before Magnus as he makes his way up the staircase and into the VIP area, the electronic music bouncing against his ribs in an erratic beat. Between the tables and chairs half-naked girls with smiles stuck to their faces carry trays laden with bottles and glasses of expensive alcohol, as well as with packets of white powder for the more exotic tastes.

 

“Father.” Magnus greets as he sits down, setting his hat on the table and running fingers through his hair to fix the couple of flattened strands. Asmodeus – a smartly dressed, older man with dark slicked back hair and a gaunt face nods in return, sipping on his half-emptied glass of whiskey.

 

They stay silent for a moment as Magnus surveys the scene, the chainlink octagon cage in the middle of the space and men of almost every age gathering around it as the time for the main event comes closer. A hand adorned with the family signet falls heavy onto his shoulder and Magnus barely resists the temptation to roll his eyes.

 

“Gentlemen, I see you’re all settled in.”

 

Magnus tips his head to the side and watches his cousin take a seat by his father’s left hand and their eyes catch, a cutting smirk surfacing on Azazel’s face which Magnus answers with one speaking of confidence. There has always been a touch of rivalry between them and it shows once again, bets placed on two opposing fighters that are about to compete.

 

Azazel leans back comfortably in the chair, one leg crossed over the other and hands weaved together in his lap, a picture of decadence paired with the dark suit and glittering cufflinks shaped like wasps.

 

“I’m sorry to say this, dear cousin, but your fighter won’t last.” He says, a challenge thrown like a glove at Magnus’ feet.

 

“You would know, wouldn’t you? From what I recall, you’ve lost the last two duels _tragically_.” Magnus feigns nonchalance, fingers coming to rest again his goatee as if he was trying to remember something. “Ah, how much money was that? Near a million, right?”

 

Azazel visibly bristles, but keeps his calm, lighting a cigar instead of replying, but Magnus knows the words dug into his ego; yet, Magnus truly hopes he is not wrong on this. He has chosen to patron his fighter, which means bringing him into the more advanced circuit of bloody glitz and glamour, where victories build the path to stardom in this rotten world of illegal brawling. A loss often equals a new position three feet beneath the cold soil, so for the fighter the stakes are much higher than a few rolls of laundered bills.

 

Magnus is pulled from his thoughts when the crowd roars, a bald presenter stepping into the octagon with an old-fashioned microphone in hand.

 

“Let us welcome tonight’s fresh blood!” He calls, causing the noise to double again, drunk warlords and drug dealers enjoying themselves a bit too much for Magnus’ liking. “On the right, we have Marco Southerland also known as Vigil!”

 

A tall, blond man steps into the cage, doing a fistpump above his head before shucking his t-shirt into one of the corners. To Magnus’ careful eye, he doesn’t seem like much of a challenge – rather slender build, the lack of surety shining in blue eyes and a boyish face, but there is always a possibility of a hidden trick that nobody expects.

 

“On the left – Alec Lightwood, our new rising star, the ferocious Wolf!”

 

Cheers get even louder, threatening to burst everyone’s eardrums when Magnus’ fighter walks into the arena. He’s already shirtless, hands wrapped in boxing tape, skin covered with tattoos, dark hair sprawling the expanse of a muscular chest and stomach. Jaw tight, brows pulled together and calculating, he pays no attention to the public; focused on the goal, his hazel eyes trace the nervous movements of his opponent.

 

Magnus feels a tug of nostalgia in his heart, where there was a boy laughing once, there is now a man with only one wish. With nostalgia come questions and with questions comes guilt, but it’s foreign, trapped behind thick walls, as this is not the time nor the place for deeper thoughts.

 

10 minutes, 250 thousand dollars at stake, one life to be lost.

 

The gong sings a tune, the battle starts.

 

At first they only circle around, light on their feet and guards up; Alec tries out a couple of jabs, quickly becoming the leading force of the battle, the one pushing forward with aggressive attacks. For the first couple of minutes, Vigil only minimizes the damage, lets himself get backed up against the fence multiple times and pummeled ruthlessly by Alec; Vigil’s eye is swelling up and there are multiple bruises forming on his body before half of the time is even up.

 

There are no breaks, no rest and soon they’re both breathing heavily, droplets of sweat running down their faces and bodies. Then, the unexpected happens. Vigil charges forward, grappling Alec around his middle and bringing him down onto the bloodied mats with a breath-taking thump. There’s a moment of struggle, where they both fight for dominance, elbows and knees going to work, everything allowed not to let yourself get pinned to the ground.

 

Magnus feels tense, his palms half-consciously gripping the armrests of his chair. It can’t end like this, it can’t be over before they even got to talk. Attention focused on the two wrestling bodies, Magnus notices Vigil’s arm reaching beneath the band of his shorts and something glittering in the dead light.

 

Absently, his mind recognizes a cheap blade. 

 

(There are no rules for poor man’s gladiators.)

 

_A blade._

 

Azazel chuckles, his eyes hot on the side of Magnus’ face as he stands up and walks over to the railing, leaning heavily on the rusted metal. Anxiety races through his every nerve ending, but he remains stone-faced, heart hammering in his throat. When Vigil’s fingers wrap around the hilt, the entire world goes slow-motion.

 

“Alec! Look out!” He calls loudly and somehow it carries over all of the commotion.

 

Alec glances up, eyes searching for the source of the voice, widening when they fall on Magnus. The seconds they share feel like forever and Magnus sees a kaleidoscope of emotions pass over Alec’s face starting with confusion, through recognition and shock to determination. There’s an almost imperceptible nod, Alec’s throat working to swallow as he gathers his strength.

 

With a vicious kick to his gut delivered by Alec, Vigil is on his back and gasping in pain, his secret weapon clattering to the ground far out of his grasp. The crowd roars in delight, claps and chants in Alec’s name. The fluorescent lights hold his eyes in the shadows, glinting off of the ruby red coating the lower half of his face.

 

With a snarl, Alec lunges at Vigil, sitting atop of him, fists driving down over and over and over. There’s no jury, just the thirst for blood of everyone gathered, Alec with his teeth bared and anger present in every hit. It stops being a brawl at one point, instead turning into a personal vendetta on the world, each punch a call for justice for the ones on the wrong side of the scale.

 

Magnus doesn’t pay attention to his father laughing in delight at all of the chaos, doesn’t acknowledge Azazel’s quiet exit, stays frozen against the railing and watches Alec beat the everloving shit out of the other guy until someone pulls him off and announces him a winner. Vigil is breathing, but doesn’t move from the octagon, his face swollen and bloody and bearing close to no resemblance to the one Magnus saw nearly 10 minutes ago.

 

The main event of the evening is done, bookmakers start milling around the crowd as Magnus says goodbye to Asmodeus, accepting his congratulations with an appropriate smile before he makes his way over to a tiny room tucked into the opposite corner. It’s dingy, with a sink and a cracked mirror above it, a couple of metal lockers and two benches, one of them currently occupied by Alec.

 

Magnus closes the door behind his back, locking out most of the noise, leaving the two of them in somber silence, a minefield of questions with no answers. Alec picks up his head from where it was resting in his hands and looks at Magnus, the smile on his mouth a little bit crooked, something bitter sitting underneath.

 

“Why did you choose me?” He says, voice raspy, eyes following Magnus’ every movement as he sits on the bench opposite of Alec, a small bit of space between their knees.

 

So many answers come to Magnus’ mind at once and he chuckles.

 

“I did my research on you – strong, resilient, tenacious… You had good chances.”

 

At that, Alec snorts loudly, wiping at his face and wincing when his palm brushes against his nose. “That’s all?”

 

“You know it’s not.” Magnus sighs, reaching out for Alec’s hands. There’s a fondness lingering between them even with the years that divide them and Magnus feels his heart leap painfully for the things they had.

 

“I’m not a charity case, Magnus. I don’t need your pity.”

 

“I’m not pitying you. We’ve promised each other something.”

 

They fall silent as Magnus starts to unwrap the boxing tape pulled tight over Alec’s skin, revealing purple and green and yellow bruises bleeding into black-ink tattoos, knuckles marked with scars. Magnus runs his thumb along the lines, Alec’s fingers twitching in his grasp.

 

“After you left, it-“ Alec pauses, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Everything went to shit after that summer.”

 

Magnus nods. “Is that why you’re a fighter now?”

 

“I have to pay back my parents’ debts. God knows they can’t.” Alec laughs, but it’s a hollow sound, devoid of its old mirth.

 

So the gossip that went around was true, big money borrowed from the wrong people, misguided decisions and mishandled deals leading to revenge and children turning into orphans.

 

“What about-“ Magnus starts, words sticking to his throat.

 

“They’re fine. Alive.” The answer comes out rushed, a half-truth that Alec seems to reconsider. “Jace’s in jail, but… we’re okay.” He adds, finding Magnus’ eyes, who nods.

 

They lapse into silence again and Magnus moves onto unwrapping the other hand. He feels as if they’re alone in the world, sat in their little bubble, trying to figure each other out. Magnus can sense Alec’s eyes on him, a curious gaze like warm fingers against his jaw.

 

“Do you ever wish we could go back?” Magnus almost misses the question, vulnerable and quiet, but he meets Alec’s eyes, finally taking a moment to take in his face from up close – it’s much sharper around the edges, the once patchy facial hair of a teenager a fully-fledged stubble now, but Magnus gets caught on the shape of Alec’s lower lip, the faint memory of it dragging against his skin still tangible.

 

He smiles, letting the crumpled tape fall onto the floor. “Every day, Alexander. I wish I’d never left.” Leaning back against the cold wall, Magnus watches Alec move to the sink and wash away all of the blood meticulously until the water runs clear again. Their eyes meet in the mirror, Alec’s reflection distorted by the cracks.

 

“We’ve had something good.” He says then moves to grab a duffle bag and pull some clothes from it before starting to change. Magnus closes his eyes and goes back in time; memories like movie frames passing before him – bright smiles, hands tangled together, shy kisses behind the lockers and much braver kisses in the privacy of their rooms, long conversations stretching until sunrise.

 

“We have. Do you remember that weekend that we drove far out of the city and had a picnic on the hood of your dad’s car?”

 

Alec’s laughter rings out and it’s a song Magnus missed listening to.

 

“Oh, I remember another thing that happened on the hood of that car.”

 

They both snicker at the innuendo and Magnus pulls himself together with a sigh, brushes off some invisible lint from his coat. Alec’s dressed now, the bag slung over his shoulder and an unreadable expression on his face. They stand opposite each other, two sides of the same coin forged in different worlds.

 

It’s strange to feel this sort of familiarity again; after everything they’ve gone through, they’re still pulled together like magnets, until there’s only a couple of inches left and Magnus can count all of the specks of green in Alec’s hazel eyes. Their fingers brush tentatively together, like they used to years ago, when they still had golden futures, before they had to grow up too quickly.

 

“You were my first everything.” Alec whispers, voice breaking over the last word.

 

They’re both touch-starved and hopeful, too soft-hearted for the world this cruel, but Magnus has never loved anyone more than the one before him, has never felt more at home than with his Alec by his side for so many years. And maybe it was all fate’s doing, to keep them apart for so long only to let them find each other again, to make the dreams a reality once more.

 

“I’m still yours if you want me.” Magnus whispers back, pressing closer until they’re kissing and it feels steadying, like finding land after being lost at sea. It’s warm lips and warmer bodies and Alec’s quiet gasp when his back hits the wall. The duffle bag drops to the floor and Alec twists his hands into the fabric of Magnus’ coat; they breathe with cheeks pushed together, and simply hold on even when the closest they can get doesn’t feel close enough. 

 

Years back, they promised each other forever and Magnus intends on keeping that vow.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! <3
> 
> You can find me over on [tumblr](www.maghnvsbane.tumblr.com)


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